Love is Blindness
by blackrumsugarcane
Summary: Lord Voldemort was using World War II as a front for killing Muggleborns, and Hermione Granger, spy extraordinaire and esteemed member of the Order of the Phoenix, was charged with the impossible task of infiltrating his chain of command. What happens when a witch uses her powers of seduction to bring Draco Malfoy, general of the Dark, to his knees? A tale of intrigue ensues.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

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_Germany, 1939_

Lord Voldemort lounged silently, contemplating the man in front of him. In some ways, they were similar. This thought, he had conceded, albeit grudgingly. But he consoled himself with the knowledge that he was still _vastly_ different and more powerful than this muggle. He controlled the sneer that was threatening to form at the thought of collaborating with a muggle, but oh, how Voldemort absolutely loved chaos. Besides, the more muggles that died, the better, he supposed.

"Adolf, my friend," Voldemort said, speaking in fluent German. "I have for you a business proposition."

Adolf Hitler stared at the tall, slender, and startlingly pale gentleman sitting in front of him. The man exuded power and imposition, and Hitler found himself slightly impressed. It was hard to impress him. The man, who went by the name Voldemort (Hitler scoffed when he first heard it. How daring), had dark hair, almost black. His eyes were a shade so brown, Hitler swore he saw hints of red. Although he was frighteningly skinny, Voldemort did not at all appear sickly. His features were exceedingly sharp, and he was painfully handsome. Hitler, who was as straight as an arrow, was especially drawn to Voldemort's lips, which formed a cruel slash across his face when he wasn't attempting to woo his subject. All in all, Hitler was reminded of himself in younger, finer days. Brought out of his reverie by the rhythmic tapping of Voldemort's slender fingers, Hitler finally responded. "I don't work with Englishmen," he stated matter-of-factly. "They are not trustworthy, and do not see eye-to-eye with me about certain things."

Voldemort's cruel mouth tilted upward in a mocking smirk. "And _I_ don't work with Austrians. I think they are disgusting and dirty, especially when they pretend to be German," Voldemort said, his smile widening at the irony in his words. Hitler _was_ quite similar to him, wasn't he? Voldemort continued, "But frankly, I don't give a damn. At all, really. Because despite your mistaken preconceptions, which will be corrected, I'm sure, we do share similar views. We both believe that there is a lesser race to be eradicated, and are willing to take extreme measures to make sure our ends are met."

Hitler quirked his brow, his interest peaked. "Go on," he said, although he was sure he didn't need to allow permission. If Voldemort was anything like Hitler, he was a man to be feared, and this, the Austrian knew for a fact. He tried not to show it, but saw that Voldemort knew, and did not care.

"I am nobility. There are other members of nobility such as myself. And there are others, still, who aren't. Does this philosophy sound familiar?" Voldemort continued without waiting for an answer. "Allow me to show you something."

Hitler watched as Voldemort pulled a slender, highly polished stick of wood out of his jacket pocket. "My wand," he was saying. He waved the stick around and objects started flying about. Hitler continued to watch as beautiful lights and vapors spun about the room. "Behold this awesome power."

The Austrian believed that the power was very awesome indeed, but instead said, "You bring witchcraft into my home? How dare you! Your powers are satanic an-"

He was interrupted by high, cruel laughter, and saw that Voldemort's mouth was parted in mirth. "Dare? I dare do as I please," Voldemort stated, twirling his wand nonchalantly. He pulled the vapors in, turning them into dark, menacing mist.

Hitler stared, transfixed, as the vapors approached him and wrapped themselves around him, squeezing tighter and tighter. "Halt, nein, nein, please!" he screamed, terrified.

Voldemort only laughed. "You see, Adolf, dearest pal, I could have done this all along. I could have controlled you with a flick of my wrist, but instead I approached you. Why?" Voldemort paused dramatically. "Simply because I am a better _human_ than you. You disgust me. All nonmagical creatures are beneath me, and yet here I am, feigning deference. I thought you were above all of this," Voldemort waved his arm about the room, and Hitler had a feeling that he was gesturing at the world, "filth. But I guess not. I guess you aren't very distinguished at all." Voldemort flicked his wand and the vapors disappeared. He stood up and buttoned his coat. "I can kill you right here. I can wave my hand and control you." He extended his hand towards Hitler, who was terrified out of his mind.

Suddenly, Hitler felt himself doing cartwheels about the room, then watched, mortified, as he walked to his grand desk, pulled down his pants, and shat on his own desk. He felt his hand reaching out to the pile of excrement, felt himself touching it, felt himself bringing the filth to his face. And, as sudden as it began, he felt himself in his own body again. He had no power, he saw. He was in the hands of this monster.

"See, I told you. Filth." Voldemort vanished the excrement and Scourgified Hitler, then looked at him appraisingly. "If you _are_ actually distinguished and are just having a bad day, I believe we can talk business. If not…" Voldemort left the statement unfinished.

"No, no, Herr Voldemort, I believe that we can work together. What-"

"Just do exactly as you have been. I will make sure the world knows you and you are given credit for your work. I just require that you do it all under my purview. I can not have you accidentally killing my people with your tomfoolery. Besides," Voldemort started walking towards the door, "I mostly just wanted to meet you. I heard great things." He looked back at the pantsless Fuhrer, humor marking his face and making him momentarily stunning. "I will be sending my right-hand man here to make plans with you. And Hitler, do see that you never do anything that will cause me to come back here again. I _detest_ your tasteless flat."

With that, the British man disappeared in a puff of dark smoke.

Hitler sat down shakily. He had no idea what happened just now, but he knew that this alliance was dangerous. And that this Voldemort had ulterior motives. What's worse was the fact that there were more just like him, although not _exactly_ like him, Hitler supposed. He took a deep breath, pulled on his pants, and waited for this man that Voldemort had him waiting for.

Minutes later, two tall, exceedingly pale, flaxen-haired gentlemen appeared directly inside his office, startling him. _Ah_, he thought, _at least they're Aryan._


	2. One, Two, Three

AN: Hey all! Welcome to my new fic. It's AU, set during WW2, in England, for now. This chapter is purposefully short, all the other ones will be much longer. I don't know where this fic is or will be going, so it is likely to be abandoned unless I get some support or new ideas, so feel free to contribute! And yes, this story is inspired by Love is Blindness, the Jack White cover of the U2 song.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, yo!

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**Chapter 1**

The dark wood of the bar gleamed softly in the golden lights proffered by the surrounding lamps. The bartender looked at the pretty woman in the glittering red dress with distrust. Something about her made him nervous. The door to the bar creaked open loudly, and a flurry of snow burst through. A dark silhouette nighted itself against the white flakes, and the figure stood still, as if contemplating his state of affairs. The door swung shut behind him. The barkeeper stopped wiping his glasses with his dirty rag and looked up at the noise of the entrance. He started.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy! I hadn't expected to see you here tonight!" It was a Tuesday night, after all, and members of the wizarding Gestapo stopped in on Fridays.

"I'm meeting someone," the tall blonde man answered brusquely.

The bartender nodded shakily, then returned to shining his glasses. The pale stranger walked to one end of the bar and sat down, waiting for Tom, the barkeeper, to prepare his drink. He pulled out his cigarette and lit it without a single word or gesture or thought, and looked around. His eyes lit upon the woman in red, who was nursing her own drink. She seemed to sense his stare and turned to face him.

"Yes, I am the one you're looking for," she stated matter-of-factly.

Mr. Malfoy, who was known as Draco in his innermost circles, ignored her, and continued to look around the crowded bar. The woman appeared nonplussed and finished her drink before she grabbed her clutch and fur capelet, making to leave the bar. Draco looked at her again, wondering if she was a Muggle. His lip held a contemptuous sneer at the thought. She turned slowly, and he took in her profile. Lightly tanned skin, a slender neck and shoulders, dark, riotous curls pinned by a sparkling hair clip. The dress she wore was a sparky red number and revealed her elegant back, her curvature stunning. Draco chuckled internally. Even if she wasn't who he was looking for, he wouldn't be upset with _interrogating_ her. His mind nagged at him. Something about the woman was familiar. Maybe her hair, or face. But something was also off. He remembered, suddenly, that he was supposed to be looking for something, an insignia of some sort. He glanced back at her hair clip, taking in its strange shape.

"Tom!" he barked.

The bartender started again, then brought Draco his drink. He swallowed it in one gulp, watching as the woman made her way towards the door. "That woman."

"Yes," Tom inquired, keeping his eyes low.

"What was the shape of her clip?"

"I don't re-"

Draco shook his head impatiently, then whipped out his wand and trained it on the shivering barkeep.

"Look at me," he muttered quietly, menacingly.

The barkeeper met the silver, icy eyes fearfully.

"_Legilimens_," he whispered, and gained entrance into the barkeeper's less-than-average mind. He sorted quickly through memories, waiting to find what he was looking for. He saw in a sort of hazy glow what he had been meaning to find. The hair clip was in the most curious shape. A skull with a snake tongue, and emblazoned upon the fearsome visage was none other than a swastika.

Draco withdrew sharply from Tom's mind and cursed loudly, afraid that he had missed his contact with the Muggle dictator, Hitler. He stood up abruptly and turned, meaning to catch up to the woman in red.

Imagine his surprise when a hand alighted upon his shoulder, and his eyes met with the woman's. Her fiery orbs shimmered in the lamp light, and she smiled, her red lips a cruel caricature of his embarrassment.

"Mr. Malfoy, I presume? Trish DuPont, at your service," she said, extending her right hand, upon which she wore the most curious ring.

Draco glanced at it briefly, and refused to shake it. He didn't touch Muggle women, unless it was for pleasure. And since he had business to do, he would rather not be waylaid by this temptress. He met her eyes as she dropped her hand, and noted that she seemed affronted.

"I'm not a Jew, you realize," she said, "but a pleasure to meet you nonetheless." She smiled again, and Draco forced himself to shake the nagging feeling that something about this woman was very familiar, as if he had known her from his past.


End file.
